When we pulled up in front of Ron’s house the first thing I noticed was the startling clean line of porch and shrubbery.  There was nothing to trip over. In fact, a thick doormat was placed in front of the porch itself, so a blind person would know when it was time to step up onto the porch.

Very clever, I thought. I smiled nervously at John as I rang the doorbell. I haven’t met many blind people.

Ron opened the door with an enthusiastic smile, and invited us in. As we all introduced ourselves, I was struck by the fact that he seemed to know exactly where we were standing, and how far to extend a hand to shake.

Several months ago I wrote about meeting Ron Freitas on the phone. We became acquainted after I read his story in The Little House That Cares, a book of stories by blind people, published by the VIPS of Modesto .  VIPS means Visually Impaired Persons Suppoort. When I told Ron I was thinking about putting patches on my eyes, and experiencing a day of blindness, he enthusiastically invited me to his home for a few pointers!

So here we were!

Ron is a retired resource teacher for the city of Modesto. He worked for the school district for 30 years. It became obvious that he is a teacher when he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out some index cards covered with Braille writing, “How much time do you have?”

John and I grinned at each other. Clearly our visit was not an imposition. Ron was going to enjoy being a teacher as much as I was going to enjoy being a student.

“Be careful,” Mr. Freitas warned, as he turned to lead us into his living room, “there’s a step-down here.”  As we walked he held out the back of his hand so it gently ran along the wall. This is called trailing, he explained, a way of seeing where you are going when you can’t see with your eyes.

The living room was fairly cluttered, but in a precise and orderly way. A table was covered with reading materials and a collection of vitamins and pills.  He explained that a reader, a family friend, comes over to read to him, and also sorts the pills and vitamins into their various compartments of several containers.

The walls were covered with family pictures, and a guitar stood off to the side. Yes, he plays the guitar. And his wife is a very good singer he told us proudly.

He indicated a desk with some paper and a strange typewriter-like machine.  “This is a Braille writer.  I’ll show you how to use it, but first, let’s take a walk – do you remember what I said about trailing?”  He pulled two different kinds of blindfolds from a desk drawer and handed them out to me, offering me a choice. Or no choice.

We walked through several rooms of his house, trailing hands along the walls and counter edges. John followed, taking notes and pictures.  Sometimes, Ron said, he uses his cane in the house if there is company or things have been moved. A cane will give advance warning of anything that might not be normal. You hold the cane in front of you and slowly move it from side to side. When the cane is on your left, you step forward with your right foot, and vise-versa, in a natural rhythm.  There were several canes placed strategically at doorways around the house.

Blindfolded, I followed John and Ron outside, where I practiced using the cane. Ron then showed us the appropriate way to help a blind person.  He said most blind people are glad of help in a strange place or in public, but many sighted people feel awkward about offering.  Simply ask if you can help. When you are guiding a blind person allow him or her to hold your arm just above the elbow and walk at a natural pace, keeping your eyes open for obstacles, unevenness and stops.

There is a lot of help available to blind people today. Ron told us that, among other gadgets, he has a talking watch, thermometers, and pedometer. And you can hear just about anything on the computer.   People who are born blind can learn about the shape of very large things by holding models of cars, elephants etc.

Back in the living room, Ron explained the Braille system and machine. The Braille writer has six keys, and using a shorthand system of six dots arranged in differing order, Braille letters and words are pushed into heavier than normal paper. The blind person reads the Braille by running his fingers gently over the tiny impressions.

Ron demonstrated the Braille-writer, then insisted that I put on the blindfold again, and sit down for a turn at the machine.

My respect for blind people soared, as I nervously tried to remember Ron’s instructions on how to sightlessly maneuver those six keys. It was really hard, but I was able write a few simple words.

One of the ways to learn the alphabet is with a Braille model with 6 ping pong balls in cells. The balls can be moved around and removed make the various letters.  There are also Braille shorcuts for commonly used words.

It staggered me to think about trying to learn so many new things, but the VIPS book was full of stories about people who became blind in later life and were able to successfully learn, and live victoriously.

Finally we said goodbye to Mr. Freitas, and thanked him for his help, and headed home. It was time to put on my eye patches and experience an afternoon of blindness.

To be continued…

I was in the lobby of the Salvation Army filling out a form to be a volunteer bell-ringer. I had only been there about two minutes, and already three people had come in asking for some kind of help. More than a person a minute – I wondered if that pace continued all day.

One thing is for sure: the Salvation Army helps a lot of people.

For the last four years I have taken one single day of the busy Christmas Season to stand outside Walmart with a Red Kettle.  I love it. I meet so many people, and most of them are friendly and want to stand and chat for a few minutes. And always, near the end of my shift, the kettle is so full that I have to poke a pen or something into the slot to push down the bills, and make room for more.

It’s so wonderful – almost everyone puts money in! The comment I hear over and over is “This organization does so much good!”  I agree. And I’m proud to take a small part in their good work.

This year I decided to do a little digging into how it all began.

I looked up The Red Kettle History  and this is what I learned.

In the winter of 1891, Salvation Army Captain, Joseph McFee was distraught because so many poor people in San Francisco were going hungry. He resolved to provide a free Christmas dinner for those hungry, destitute people.

The only problem was how to fund that huge undertaking. Where would the money come from? Captain McFee lay awake worrying, thinking, and praying. Where could he find funds? As he pondered the issue, his thoughts drifted back to his sailor days in Liverpool, England. He remembered how, at Stage Landing, where the boats came in, there was a large, iron kettle called “Simpson’s Pot” into which passers-by tossed a coin or two to help the poor.

The next day Captain McFee placed a similar pot at the Oakland Ferry Landing at the foot of Market   Street. Beside the pot, he placed a sign that read, “Keep the Pot Boiling.” Soon he had the money to fund that first Christmas dinner for 1,000 people.

Six years later, the kettle idea had spread from the west coast to the Boston area. The combined effort nationwide resulted in 150,000 Christmas dinners for the needy. In 1901, kettle contributions in New York City provided funds for the first mammoth sit-down dinner in MadisonSquareGarden, a custom that continued for many years.

Captain McFee’s kettle idea launched a tradition that has spread not only throughout the United   States, but all across the world. Everywhere, public contributions to Salvation Army kettles enable the organization to continue its year-round efforts at helping those who would otherwise be forgotten.

Today in the United States, The Salvation Army assists more than four-and-a-half million people during a typical Thanksgiving and Christmas Season. This year, because of Hurricane Sandy, there will be an even greater need for warm clothing, hot meals and water. In New York City alone, The Salvation Army has already provided more than 160,000 liters of water, and distributed over 860,000 meals to approximately 200,000 local residents.

Yes, those people are so right when they put money in my kettle and say, “This organization does so much good!

While I was at the Salvation Army office I was able to grab a few minutes from Dan Glaeser, the very busy Christmas Kettle coordinator here in Modesto. I had been curious about the fact that the Salvation Army uses paid workers as well as volunteers. Wouldn’t it make more sense to have all volunteers? I wondered. Dan explained that forty or fifty years ago there were lots of volunteer bell ringers, but now with dual income families and single parent families there are not as many people with time to volunteer.

Of course, there is a premium on volunteer bell-ringers, but there’s something to be said for hiring paid workers too.  Dan said he thinks of it, in part, as job training.  He told me a story of a woman who was new in town. She was recently widowed and had been out of the work force for years.  She didn’t have much confidence, and she really didn’t know where to start. Dan gave her a job for the whole month of December. He said about four days before the end of the month she came to him and apologized because she didn’t want to leave him in the lurch, but she had applied for a job at McDonalds and been hired! She was ecstatic, and so was Dan.  About eight months later Dan said he happened to go into the McDonalds where the woman worked. She recognized him, and happily told him she had been promoted to assistant manager. She was thankful to Dan and the Salvation Army for helping her gain the confidence to enter the work force.

Dan said he treats his paid staff the same way employees would be treated in “the real world”. It’s not just a chance for people to pick up a little extra cash for Christmas. It’s usually people who are out of work, and he expects them to prove that they are employable and professional. If he hired a bell ringer and they did a great job he said he wouldn’t hesitate to give them a job referral.

John and I were at Hobby Lobby on Friday and we stopped and chatted for a few minutes with Paul, who was manning the first kettle we saw this year.  Paul told us he is a paid worker, who has been ringing a bell for 11 years. I told him I was going to write this article and I asked him to tell me his most interesting story. He said his kettle was stolen a few years ago. (Grinch alert!) He was heartsick.  The story was on the news – and lo and behold! – a few days later someone sent the Salvation Army check for $500 to make up the stolen funds!

Peace on earth – goodwill toward men!

Sometimes I tend to be a little outspoken in my belief that the government is too involved in the business of alms-giving.

I maintain that, for the most part, people should take care of each other through personal means, churches, and faith-based organizations. So I guess the busy holiday season is the time to put my money where my mouth is.

There is never a time that I have less time than at Christmas. But in the midst of all that busyness, volunteering only 6 hours a year is like putting a $50.00 bill in the kettle. Plus, it’s fun to be in the middle of all the Christmas scurry and flurry – to make eye contact with people, have pleasant conversations with strangers, and who knows? – you might even get to visit with a friend or daughter dropping by to bring you a cup of Starbucks!

This year many high school student groups, and community organizations, Four H, Cub Scouts, Rotary Club and individuals will volunteer to man the kettles, but they can always use a few more volunteers.

Noralee and I met when we were teens.  We went to rival high schools, but we didn’t meet until just after graduation, when we worked together — a first job for both of us — at the grand opening of a local TGY store. It was a temporary job, and only lasted a few weeks, but our friendship has lasted for years.

Noralee’s son, Sean had melanoma surgery for a large birthmark three years ago. The doctors thought they got everything and he didn’t need chemo or radiation.

Like any good mommy, Noralee said she kept bugging him about getting follow up check-ups but he didn’t – until Nov 2011 when he began to experience a lot of pain.

By January the cancer was everywhere. As of the beginning of February Sean could eat and drink only very little, but he kept a positive attitude. He got to see all of his friends that last week of his life, and he passed away on February 22 – one month ago today.

It stuns me. I grieve for my friend and her family. I purpose to remember how fleeting and fragile life is.

Noralee says “You know, it would be easy to ask, ‘Why us?’ But why not us? We all have stuff we need to go through. God doesn’t love us any less because of it. I don’t know how we’d get through it without God. One friend reminded me that as much as I loved Sean, God loves him even more. Every day is a choice to love or hate, to get up or stay in bed, to laugh or cry.”

I have asked Noralee if I may share the following essay she wrote shortly after Sean’s death.

Noralee's son, Sean, with his sister, Cheryl, who created the quilt.

The Quilt

By Noralee Cole

On that deceptively mild January day when she found out that her brother’s cancer had returned and was terminal, my daughter conceived of and began work on the quilt.  It was a patchwork of four-inch, vibrantly hued diamonds representing the colorful and unique life of her brother.  Like him, the fabric displayed an underlying current of motion in the subtle pattern of watered silk on cotton.

Alternating diamonds of black highlighted the boldness and life in the rich jewel tones while reminding us of the darkness and finality of death.  The colors paid homage to the active, humorous, friendly, and charming man he was.  The rainbow pattern affirmed his lifestyle, one that her experience and faith did not normally acknowledge.  The quilt honored the whole person her brother was and quietly blessed him.

Around the central pattern of simple squares was a black banner quilted with words of encouragement that she wanted to express, but couldn’t always verbalize.  Health, happiness, love, and peace were just a few of her wishes for him.  Surrounding that was an orange ribbon of cars, representing the overwhelming passion he had since he was a small child.  She spent days piecing the squares together while our lives were falling apart.

Quilts have always been more than mere objects of warmth.  They represent a woman’s capacity for creation.  They provide a comforting embrace of love.  As the functionality of quilts has been replaced in modern times with less time and labor-intensive blankets and comforters, the quilt still remains a creative expression of beauty and love.  Like this one, they are often works of art.

When I saw it completed, I was in awe of the artistic beauty of the quilt.  Then I asked myself a question that I could not express aloud.  “What will happen to the quilt when he passes?”  My sobs were for the anticipation of losing my son to this earthly existence.  I don’t think my daughter understood that they were also in gratitude for her outpouring of love and acceptance for him; something he might not have understood in any other way and sorely needed.

My daughter poured her love into a quilt that was an outward expression of the care she gave him in his illness.  When he went to the hospital it went with him and wrapped him in the comfort of her love when she could not be there.  I did not see it at the funeral home.  Maybe it continues to provide the earthy comfort and love that quilts have always provided to their owners.  Perhaps it is wrapped and put away until grief subsides.

Thank you, my daughter, for the loving tribute of the quilt, a symbolic enmeshing of the patchwork of your life and his.  As your life is about healing, may your hands continue to express your love and emotions through the lovely, homey art of quilting.  And may the recipients know and appreciate the hidden meaning in each piece.

Sean's Quilt, displayed at the celebration of his life.